


A Poor Score

by peachpetrichor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Derek Hale, Baseball, Cuddling and Snuggling, First Dates, Kisses, M/M, POV Stiles, Seattle, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpetrichor/pseuds/peachpetrichor
Summary: “Who are you rooting for?” “The home team,” Derek says, and Stiles nods.“Me too.”The home team is already down three points by the time the third inning is over and Stiles can’t help but snort. Of course they picked the losers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This follows A sleep Study but can be read alone.

When they  get there, everything smells like garlic and grill smoke. To their left is  a guy a couple lines over, puffing on weed with a cigarette in front of his concealed pipe so that he doesn’t get caught, and to their right, a father carries his sleeping daughter on his shoulders.

Derek pulls the ticket out of his worn leather wallet and hands one off to Stiles, guiding them easily into line and doing his best, without thinking, to block the younger man off from the rest of the crowd. 

 

They end up in line for the metal detectors on the other side of the  field from where they were to be sitting according to the ticket, but this had been the closest entrance to the parking garage where Derek had left the Camaro on the 5th level. Derek had insisted on paying the fifteen dollar parking fee, arguing that it was his car they were parking, but Stiles had a feeling it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

Derek had also paid for the tickets themselves.

 

Past the gates and up the escalators, they find vendors on either side of them, selling everything form beer and burgers, to sushi and chocolate covered strawberries. Stiles couldn’t help the way his mouth watered when it all hit him.  He swore he could even smell the damn lemonade, sweet and tart, sticking to his nostrils and drying his throat.

 

 But they  sit down first, three tiers above home plate and he has to let out a held breath. They could see everything Derek slings his arm around the back of his seat carelessly and he looks as home as Stiles feels in this environment.

They’ve ended up in Seattle tracking down some pack that keeps sending betas to rough them up, and although they had successfully eliminated the threat and could be back home, somehow taking a break to a see a baseball game ended up being agreed on instead.

Not that Stiles could complain. He hadn’t seen a baseball game since his mom- well. It had been a few years anyway. Having always been a die hard Mets fan, Stiles struggles to choose who to root for out of the two unfamiliar teams, but eventually settles on the home team, The Seattle Mariners, since they were in their stadium.

Lost in thought he doesn’t notice when Derek flags down one of the peanut people and buys him a lemonade. All of a sudden its in front of his face, blocking out the field he’d been staring awestruck at.

“Wha-“

“You wanted one right?” Derek says, an impressive eyebrow quirked. He shakes the drink a little, in an attempt to get Stiles to take it, and in return Stiles fumbles with himself until he has it in his hands. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles sheepishly. 

They hadn’t talked about the kiss that happened three weeks ago, when they’d been cuddled up to each other in bed and Derek had looked at him like he hung the moon. He’d woken up warm in Derek’s arms and then they’d gone about their day like nothing had happened, settling into their usual routines.

Usual routines all except for how touchy Derek had become all of a sudden. Lately he’d been letting his hand rest on the small of Stiles back when they walked, slinging his arm over his shoulders when they sat, and running his fingers through Stiles hair whenever he passed him by. 

A tiny part of him was begging him to confront the man. Ask him about the kiss and everything else, but the rest of him was far too satisfied with all of the physical affection to do anything about it.

He leans easily into Derek’s side then, lips wrapped abound his straw, Derek’s thumb dropping immeadiately to rub patterns into his shoulder. Stiles sighs, content and warm despite the cool night air.

“Who are you rooting for?” 

“The home team,” Derek says, and Stiles nods.

“Me too.”

The home team is already down three points by the time the third inning is over and Stiles can’t help but snort. Of course they picked the losers.

Derek seems to get what he’s thinking and say, “They’ve apparently won the last eight games they’ve played.”

“Of course they have. We must be bad luck.” 

Derek gives him one of those dazzling grins he saves for special occasions and huffs a laugh before nuzzling into the side of his head. Stiles feels his cheeks heat at the open display of affection, but he cuddles back nonetheless less. 

They devolve after that, or at least Derek does. He seems to focus all of his attention on cuddling up to Stiles, nuzzling at his cheek and temple and neck and rubbing his hand along his shoulder and arm, and for Stiles part, trying to focus on the game is all he can do not to melt. By the time the Astros have six runs over the Mariners, they’re holding hands with their feet tangled under the chair and Derek his peppering kisses along his cheek and jaw.

Stiles is a puddle, or steam even, so past his melting point that he’s begun to vaporize. 

“Is this a date?” he blurts, cheeks a deep red before he can even get the question out.

Derek pauses mid kiss. “Do you want it to be?” His voice is light and happy, and sweeter than Stiles has ever heard it. He hurriedly nods.

“Then yeah. It’s a date.”

The crowd starts booing loudly over a safe call for the Astros when they kiss. Stiles can’t help but laugh against his lips, and when he breaks away he sees Derek is laughing too. They’re in the bottom of the eighth and their team is losing six oh. 

“Do you wanna go back to the hotel and order takeout?” Derek says, and they’re already standing to leave, hand in hand, with matching grins on their faces. 

“Yes please.” 

All in all, Stiles thinks it was a pretty good game.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a baseball game last night! This one specifically, in seattle, so there's that.


End file.
